


Morning

by dovahqueene



Series: Farrow Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7319311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovahqueene/pseuds/dovahqueene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's never really been a morning person, until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning

Mornings were his favorite.

They'd danced at the ball, kissed a thousand times, played chess countless times (she was dreadful, but she insisted he never let her win), but he always found himself enjoying the mornings he'd wake up with her in his bed the most. Nothing compared to her sleepy smile, the way she rubbed her eyes, and even though their breath was sour, he would always kiss her awake.

"I need to sleep, Commander," she'd tease, though she never protested.

Mornings were his favorite, because when they first woke up, it felt like they hadn't a thing to worry about. It... it felt as if she wasn't the Inquisitor and he was not the Commander of her army, like they were just two people. When he woke with her beside him, he always woke up feeling fine, never shaking or gasping awake from a nightmare that smelled of lyrium. The feeling of her beside him seemed to scare them away.

Sometimes, in the mornings, they could plan an escape from the Inquisition if they woke up early enough. Their plans were always extensive and extravagant, with stolen horses and at _least_ three dragons and fighting off a horde of demons. She was incredibly imaginative, which was something he adored. Her eyes would get just a little distant, and he could feel any worry in her voice disappearing, and _Maker_ he loved that smile. She didn't smile enough; she claimed that there simply wasn't time to smile. She said this with a grin, of course.

But the mornings were his favorite, because she'd forget about Corypheus and the rifts and the nobles she had to impress in an hour at breakfast. They could talk about the cat at the foot of the ladder, waiting for her to come down. He could ask about her Vallaslin, what the tattoos meant. She could ask where he'd gotten his scar. Her clan. His family. And then she'd say something silly and cheesy (she suspected her new attempts to be witty were coming from spending so much time with Dorian); something like, "You've got something on your face."

"Have I?"

She'd kiss his cheek then, and giggle. "Only me, I think."

Mornings were his favorite.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Who cares how cheesy it is honestly


End file.
